-Remember your senior year of high school when in countless college interviews and applications you were asked the question, “What do you like to do in your free time?”  And in each instance, in order to salvage any chance of you getting accepted, you were forced to reply with something like, “I’m active in student government, I excel at varsity football, and I volunteer six times a week,” when the actual answer was “I didn’t even vote in student government elections, I excel at Madden ’97 on Sega Genesis, and I masturbate six times a week.”  And if you actually did get in anywhere, your college days were probably more of the same.  But now that you’re twentysomething, leisure time is all of a sudden at a premium.  After all, you spend most of the daylight hours staring at the gray/burgundy walls of your cramped cubicle filled with Dilbert cartoons and photos from your last sorority date party.  But when you leave work, that’s when things really start getting interesting.  Because for my generation, the hours from nine to five are unimportant, it’s what we do afterward – from five to nine – that really counts.

-No matter where you live, every hard-working twentysomething in the country has one priority as soon as they get home from work: get undressed as quickly as possible.  I used to go from three-piece suit to boxers and dress socks in under six seconds flat.

-Some of my friends belong to corporate softball leagues and play with their co-workers several times a week.  Sometimes I wish I was part of something like that, because I’m a really competitive person and there’s nothing really for me to compete for anymore.  The last time I played organized athletics was my Greek League soccer team in college.  My fraternity made it all the way to the finals but when the championship game was scheduled for a Thursday night at 9pm, we forfeited and went out drinking instead.

-The other night I realized just how much my roommate Brian and I are clueless bachelors.  We had a couple of the guys over to have some drinks when someone spilled a beer on the carpet.  As the Miller Lite flowed out of the bottle onto our IKEA rug, Brian and I stood paralyzed as we simultaneously came to the realization that we did not have one single paper product in the apartment.  No paper towels, no toilet paper, no tissues, nothing.  Without anything to absorb the spill, there was nothing to do except blow vigorously until it soaked into the floor.

-The next day, as I walked to CVS to buy paper towels, toilet paper, and tissues, I thought to myself that it’s just amazing how much of my free time I spend running errands.  And it’s amazing how many of those errands involve going to the drugstore.  And it’s amazing how much I spend at the drugstore even though I was just there a few days ago.  Then, as I finally reached CVS, I proceeded to make an ass out of myself.  You see, I’m one of those guys who refuse to take a cart or a basket while shopping – oh no, that’s too feminine for me.  So instead I awkwardly attempt to carry all my items throughout the store in a giant bear hug and usually as I reach the end of each aisle, I drop something.  Then when I bend to pick it up, I drop something else, and so on.  Chicks are zooming by me with carts left and right and I’m trying to figure out how to carry an eight-pack of Charmin with just my pinky and index fingers.

-Quote of the Month.  After CVS, I headed to my next errand, buying porn for the apartment.  I have no idea how I was delegated this task, but for some reason Brian pays the cable bill and I supply the porn, that’s just the way it’s always been.  The thing is, pornography is like a Bic pen, no one actually buys it, you usually just have it, and if you don’t, you either borrow it or steal it.  Nevertheless, I did my duty, but apparently I didn’t do a very good job.  After privately surveying my latest purchase, Brian emerged from his room in a deep sweat and said, “Karo, this is the worst DVD I have ever seen.  The women are so repulsive I wouldn’t have sex with them in real life!”  Dude, I’ll pay the cable bill if you want to switch jobs.

-After the porn purchase, I had one last stop, the cell phone store.  Oh dear lord, the cell phone store.  I think that cell phone store employees are like an all-star team of the most incompetent, slow, rude, and lazy people on the planet.  But the beauty of the cell phone store is that the employees aren’t half as bad as the customers.  I’ve never seen more customers that can’t read instructions, don’t follow signs, and are generally unable to function in society than at the cell phone store.  When you have incompetent salespeople completely ignoring dozens of illiterate customers who are all on the wrong line anyway, you get utter chaos.  If your phone breaks, trust me, just throw it out and buy a new one online.

-Though errands tend to take up much of my free time, there was one thing that replaced them in importance the past month – the baseball playoffs.  I’ve never watched more baseball in my life.  The final result was bittersweet for me because although my Yankees beat the hated Red Sox, we lost the World Series.  You see, I’m a die hard Yankees fan going back many generations.  In fact, my family is no longer allowed to watch Billy Crystal movies because my dad is still mad at him for wearing a Mets hat in “City Slickers.”

-Without baseball, I’ve been feeling pretty bored lately.  I mean, I’ve already read the “The Da Vinci Code” twice, gotten a flu shot, and replayed the tranquilizer gun scene on my “Old School” DVD about a hundred times.  Since I can’t bear to watch the strangely uncomfortable, live 6pm Dan Patrick SportsCenter, it’s off to the gym.

-If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s having the same silly encounters happen to me over and over again.  It seems that lately, more and more girls I know have been joining my fancy gym.  That in itself I don’t mind.  I just hate when I bump into one of them and I’m all sweaty and she’s all sweaty and there’s that awkward moment where I’m not sure if I should give her a kiss on the cheek and we both sort of pause in mid-hug until one of us finally says, “Ugh, I’m disgusting,” then we both chuckle, say hello, wipe our brows, and get on with the rest of our lives.

-Much of my free time is also spent either eating, thinking of eating, planning on eating, or resting in a state of having just eaten.  Since I can’t cook (the only pizza I’ve ever made had perforations in it), I take out almost every meal.  Sometimes, I’ll meet a friend for dinner, usually when I’m sick of ordering from establishments where “double meat” is an option.

-Eating out, like the gym, is full of moments I can do without.  For instance, when you’re about to order but you’re not sure if the other person is going to get a starter and so you’re not sure if you’re going to get the soup that looks really good because you don’t want to be eating when the other person is not, and vice versa.  It’s like appetizer Russian roulette.  Then there’s that awkward moment that occurs when you’re in mid-conversation but then that guy comes by with that strange crumb scraper thing and slowly and methodically removes every morsel from the tablecloth while you and your friend sit in strained silence and try not make eye contact either with each other or the busboy.  And you think to yourself, you know, double meat doesn’t sound so bad right now.

-When I’m in my apartment just hanging out or watching TV, a lot of times I’ll crack open a beer.  This wasn’t always the case.  In high school, I hated the taste of beer.  In college, I said I loved it but still didn’t really like it that much.  Now, I can honestly say sitting on the couch and drinking a beer is one of my favorite activities.  Of course, to my mom, this is the worst development in my life since I told her I wanted to leave Wall Street to become a comedian.  She’s always been like, “Aaron, why can’t you just nurse one beer?”  Now I can finally say, “Mom, I am nursing just one beer.”  It just happens to be at 7pm on a Tuesday for no reason.

-Quick thought: why do beer bottles list the awards they won like four hundred years ago?  It seems like every import I drink won some sort of medal in the 1600s.  Is that really still a selling point?

-To many New York twentysomethings, going out on Friday and Saturday night pales in comparison to the scene during the week.  If you haven’t partied hard on a weekday, I suggest you check it out.  You will not believe what goes on at 3am on a Wednesday at some lounges in this fine city.  Sometimes I’ll just stand back and watch the drunken mass of bodies and wonder, doesn’t anyone here have a job?  And more importantly, where are all you people on the weekend?

-A few weeks ago, I got up at 8am to catch a bus to Boston to watch a Yankees playoff game at Fenway that afternoon.  I realized that I hadn’t been up and out that early since my previous life as an Equity Research Junior Associate (oh yeah, the chicks used to swoon at that title).  What I saw on the street didn’t surprise me.  Exhausted twentysomethings hustling on their way to work, many so tired they could only keep one eye open, most wishing they were anywhere else in the world at that moment.  Many looked hungover as if they had heeded my advice about weekday partying.  As I watched them, I remembered the morning I threw up in a subway trash can only a block away from the office.  Good times.  But as I observed these troopers entering their own offices, I took solace in knowing what would happen next.  They would return to their tiny cubicles, chug a cup of black coffee and, as the clock struck nine to begin another tedious day, turn to their co-worker and say, “I can’t fucking wait until five.”

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-How many more blades can they possibly add to razors?  I just saw this new one with four blades.  The Mach 5 can’t be far behind.  Of course they just introduced a new Mach 3, which is just the same as the old Mach 3 but in red.  What do they take us for?

-I don’t understand the purpose of DVD reviews.  Isn’t it going to be the same as the movie itself?

-Don’t you find yourself in conversation saying, “Wow, it’s amazing what a small word it is” more and more often these days?  Just once I’d like to hear someone say, “Larry?  Nope, never heard of him.  Boy, this world is HUGE!”

-Who are these people that can’t swim?  I’m always reading about people who can’t swim getting rescued and seeing people drowning on the news and in movies and shit.  Every single person I know can swim.  Maybe not well, but they can at least can float.  It’s really not that difficult people.

-The other day I forgot my wallet when I went out for the day.  Then, I couldn’t remember my best friend’s phone number.  Later, I was having trouble figuring out the tip at a diner.  Then it hit me.  Watching Jessica Simpson on “Newlyweds” is actually making me dumber.

-My sister Caryn went to buy new sneakers to work out in a few weeks ago.  When she picked out the pair she liked, she asked the salesperson if they were suitable for running.  The guy told her that, unfortunately, they were only suitable for “incidental” running.  “Incidental running?” my sister asked, “You mean like if I’m being chased?”  “Exactly,” said the salesperson.  What?  Where did this guy work previously, a cell phone store?

-Doesn’t it seem completely amazing to you that Newton and Leibniz both invented calculus at the same time?  I mean, fucking calculus.  When me and my roommate both had the same idea to have fajitas for dinner one night, we thought we might be psychic or something.

-People who use the word “hella” should be shot.

-It’s getting pretty cold here in New York.  I hope it snows soon.  That way all the trendy chicks in the West Village won’t look so ridiculous with those big fluffy boots they’ve been wearing all summer.

-Well, another Halloween has passed and yet again I did the walk of shame in the wee hours of November 1st looking ridiculous.  Previously, I’ve espoused my first rule of Halloween – that no matter what her costume is supposed to be, every girl basically dresses like a whore.  Now I’d like to add a second rule.  No matter what you’re wearing on Halloween, there will always be one part of your costume that bothers the hell out of you all night.  For me, it was the stupid belt on my army man outfit that kept coming apart.  Given the amount of time I spent at the bar trying to fix my belt instead of hitting on women dressed like whores, it’s astonishing I was able to do the walk of shame at all.

-The beginning of November is also that sort of awkward time in New York when you’re not sure if you should bring a jacket out or not.  You can rationalize that you’re only going from your apartment to a cab to the bar, but somehow you know inevitably you’ll end up wasted and freezing at 4am on some deserted street in Chinatown, so you take one anyway.  I love the art of trying to hide your jacket at a bar instead of checking it.  You’re wrapping it around bar stools, you’re stuffing it behind couches, but no matter what happens, you always find it three hours later on the floor nowhere near where you put it.  If you find it at all.

-The end of the year also brings with it one of the most joyous of traditions – the office holiday party.  You’ve got to love a society where every year we gather to celebrate record-low profit margins and the opportunity to fuck inebriated co-workers.  I always enjoyed standing at the outskirts of the dance floor with my fellow entry-level grunts, blue button-downs rolled up at the sleeves and a Heineken in each hand.  The key was to find any female employee who seemed to be dancing excessively.  Because that, in our Neanderthal minds, meant she was easy.  It’s incredible Wall Street doesn’t just collapse upon itself in stupidity.  More often, anyway.

-Of my last two New Year’s, one I spent in the hospital getting my appendix out and the other I spent in Vegas.  This year, I’m looking for something right in between.  But from now until the end of December, me and my friends will spend hours discussing, arguing, making, and revising our New Year’s plans.  The worst is my friend Claudio.  Every year we make elaborate plans and then he cancels on us at the last minute because he has to celebrate his mom’s birthday.  We’re like, dude, you’ve known the entire year that your mom was born on January 1st, why do you even make plans in the first place?

-Living in New York has one major disadvantage: I’m all but disqualified from playing on “The Price is Right.”  Seriously, I was watching the show the other day while on the treadmill at the gym, and I was so far off on all the prices because everything is so expensive here.  I’m thinking a bottle of detergent is like fifteen bucks and the answer is $3.99.  If I was on the show, I’d have to be that annoying guy who bets one dollar every time so everyone else busts and I win by default.  Still I lament, with all the money I spend at my overpriced drugstore, I may never make it to the Showcase Showdown.

-You know who I hate?  Fake-ass celebrities who go to major sporting events just to be seen on TV and take seats away from the real fans.  But to be honest guys, I don’t really care if you go to the Yankees game, just don’t buy a brand-new Yankees hat just before you get to the stadium that looks ridiculous on you because it’s barely creased and proves to everyone at home that you don’t even follow the team.  Hey Denzel, Calista, Mayor Bloomberg…you suck!!

-Have you ever noticed that if are up late in a really quiet house or apartment, the sounds coming from the door down the hall always sound like people are having sex?  It could be the TV or the stereo or just someone talking on the phone, but for a brief second, your sexual radar pops up.  And of course you creep up to the door to get a better listen but you’re always disappointed when it’s a false alarm.

-Is there anything more annoying than listening to someone who just got a new cell phone scrolling through all of their rings to find the one they want?  I just want to be like, will you just pick Fur Elise and shut the fuck up already?

-To me, finding out that someone uses text messaging on their cell phone is like finding out someone shares your interest in obscure Far Eastern pottery – all of a sudden you have so much more to talk about.  It’s really incredibly addicting and you’d be surprised how, with a little practice, you’ll be able to text “I’m shitbombed” to your friends with only your left thumb…while you’re shitbombed.  It’s also fun to do when you’re bored.  Every once in a while my buddy Jason will send me the most grammatically correct text message, complete with capitalization and punctuation.  When he does, I always text him right back and say, “r u taking a crap right now?”

-Nothing says “I don’t care” like an email response to a phone call.  Ever call a girl and leave a message and then she emails you the next day with the subject “got your message” and some excuse why she couldn’t call you back?  Yeah, well in case you were wondering, that’s girl-code for “Drop dead.”

-Ever put on an old pair of glasses, look at yourself in the mirror, and wonder how in the world you ever wore something so hideous?

-I think instead of calling it Daylight Savings, it should be called “How the fuck did I get that clock up in there in the first place?” Day.

-Is it weird that sometimes when I receive a really nice thank you note, I wonder if maybe I should thank the person for thanking me?

-I only own one suit and I’ve been wearing it forever.  I think I’ve literally worn it to four weddings and funeral.

-And, finally, the other day I was in my gym locker room getting ready to leave.  My lazy ass hadn’t been there in a while, and on top of that it was an especially grueling workout since I kept running into sweaty girls I didn’t want to hug and I had just realized my “Price is Right” shortcomings.  As I was finishing up, I overheard a conversation between two pretty muscular guys in the next row of lockers.  One guy was like, “It was really hard to come to the gym today.”  And I thought to myself, true that man, true that.  Then the other guy was like, “Yeah, especially after you’ve been gone for a while, it’s tough to get back in the swing of things.”  And I thought, yeah dude, I feel you totally.  Then the first guy said, “I’m really sore too, maybe I’ll take tomorrow off from working out.”  And I found myself thinking, maybe I’ll take tomorrow off too.  Boy, these guys are really on to something.  Then as they were walking away, I heard the second guy say to his friend, “See, I told you it takes a while to recover after finishing a triathlon.”  Fuck me.

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